


Dwalin Done Proper

by diemarysues



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Oral Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-20
Updated: 2013-11-20
Packaged: 2018-01-02 03:57:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1052244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diemarysues/pseuds/diemarysues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dwalin ends up at Bilbo's door a week before the 'Party'. On the last day they have alone together, Bilbo makes his move.</p><p>Things don't go quite as Dwalin expects.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dwalin Done Proper

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alkjira](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alkjira/gifts).



> Despite the pun-niness of the title (courtesy alkjira, also known as my cat), this fic was written because alkjira and I absolutely detest fics (and lbr, anyone IRL) that claim that sex *always* has to hurt. It doesn't. If it hurts, it means you're not relaxed enough, or not aroused enough, or the person is too big that your stretching wasn't enough.
> 
> (And I've only just realised the oddness of my tags, written in the order they are. Ah well.)

Leaving as early as he did had been a matter of habit more than planning.

 

Dwalin often travelled with Thorin, see. And as much as Thorin was his King, and family besides, Dwalin had to admit that he did not have a very good sense of direction. He was alright if he had a map and very specific landmarks – he felt that he needed to defend Thorin, even if it was in his own thoughts – but he couldn’t track for Orc piss.

 

And he was stubborn enough to wander in circles for days before he unbent and asked for navigating help. It was hopeless.

 

At any rate, because Dwalin had travelled alone and led the way himself, he now found himself in the spacious – if odd – home of their burglar-to-be, a week before the rest were meant to arrive. It had been an awkward meeting, not least because the Grey Wizard had apparently not seen fit to tell the Hobbit (Bilbo Baggins, his name was) about _anything_.

 

Given Dwalin’s usual bluntness, his version of the explanation had not gone over well.

 

Still, that was their first meeting. Flighty as Hobbits seemed to be, they did not believe in turning guests from their door, no matter how queer. Dwalin was shown to his very own room – the best guestroom, his host proudly announced – with the softest bed he’d had in a long time. He was also served three sumptuous meals a day (with the promise of more, if he wished), though by the second day Bilbo seemed comfortable enough with him to demand he help with the shopping in repayment.

 

The small creature didn’t mention anything more about the quest, other than to mutter darkly about Wizards and their secrecy.

 

Today, the day the rest of his kin (and Tharkûn) were supposed to arrive, Bilbo’s pleasure was to ask Dwalin to wash the dishes after lunch. Since lunch had been utterly delectable – really, if they didn’t get a burglar out of this, Dwalin would have to insist on Thorin hiring Hobbits to fill Ered Luin’s kitches – Dwalin did as asked, while Bilbo puttered around the kitchen.

 

“Did you make this yourself?”

 

Dwalin looked over, watching as Bilbo fingered his knuckledusters. (They could stand up to dishwater, of course, but no sense making the job clunkier than necessary.) “Aye, I did.”

 

“Oh.”

 

He waited for the inevitable question, and smiled a little when Bilbo asked, “What are they?”

 

“Well, when I don’t have any weapons on hand, punching is the best way out of a brawl.”

 

The Hobbit made a considering noise. “I’d’ve thought that your fists were weapons enough.”

 

Dwalin glanced down at his soapsuds-covered knuckles; he’d clenched his fists unconsciously. “Aye, but there’s always room for extra help. I’m strong, but not strong enough to break a Warg’s jaw without my knuckledusters.”

 

“You seem strong enough.” Bilbo abandoned the knuckledusters in favour of trailing his touch over the back of Dwalin’s hand.

 

Well, well. That was an interesting development. Even so, Dwalin wouldn’t make a move until he was implicitly sure of what was being offered. “I’m sorry, Mister Baggins, but I’m not like you.” He could almost anticipate the tensing of shoulders and Bilbo pulling away, and quickly continued, “I am not fond of dancing around the subject.”

 

“Let me be direct, then.” Bilbo licked his lips, drawing Dwalin’s gaze. “I want you. I want to have you.”

 

Dwalin reached for the tea-towel on the counter, slowly wiping his hands dry. “And what if I want to have _you_ , Master Hobbit?”

 

“That can come after.” He tossed his head arrogantly, loose curls bouncing. “If we have time before your kin arrive.”

 

Feeling vaguely relieved that he could finally act on his desires (Dwalin hadn’t really thought that Bilbo would show an interest), Dwalin smoothed his thumb over Bilbo’s lips, parting them. “Given how pretty you are, I daresay that will be no problem.”

 

“There will be a problem if you don’t stop talking.” Bilbo hooked a finger into the collar of Dwalin’s deep green tunic, loosing the already-untied laces. “Come here.”

 

Now, Dwalin had never wanted for partners in all his years – he was desirable in the eyes of many Dwarves, and even the occasional Man – but not a one of them had ever wanted a kiss from him. He wasn’t stupid; Dwalin was very much aware of what Bilbo wanted, even if the Hobbit’s heated gaze wasn’t evidence enough. Despite his misgivings, Dwalin had never backed down from a challenge, and so moved his hand to span Bilbo’s cheek before leaning down.

 

(The strangest thing was that Dwalin found himself _wanting_ to kiss Bilbo.)

 

Bilbo’s eyes fluttered closed when their faces were inches apart, and Dwalin followed his example. This seemed logical enough – there was nothing _that_ interesting so close to Bilbo’s head – but with his eyes closed, how’d he be able to finish the motion he’d started?

 

Bilbo solved this problem by rising onto his toes (or that was what it felt like to Dwalin), meeting their lips with a smack and –

 

Oh. Was that it? Clearly he hadn’t been missing anything, if the sensation of kissing was similar to pressing foreheads together (though lacking the same meaning, and of course no one had a forehead as _soft_ as Bilbo’s lips), and Dwalin’s shoulders tensed. He had no idea if Bilbo thought the same about the lacklustre quality of their kiss and would rescind his offer of –

 

The hand at the front of his shirt tightened its grip, fisting the worn cloth, and Bilbo’s mouth _opened_ –

 

Dwalin shivered violently, stunned into standstill. Bilbo, blithely unaware of the effect of his actions, gently drew Dwalin’s lower lip between his. His tongue swiped once, twice, warm and wet and strange, and the Dwarf felt his jaw drop ever so slightly. Just slightly enough to make his mouth slit open, and for Bilbo’s tongue to – to slip _into_ Dwalin’s mouth.

 

Conflicted, Dwalin pulled back. On one hand, Bilbo had just put his _tongue_ into Dwalin’s mouth. And it had felt _strange_.

 

On the other hand, it had also felt… good. Not good in the same way polishing your axe handle was, but pleasant. Bilbo’s lips were wickedly pliant, and this close Dwalin could smell the flowery freshness of his hair. Opening their mouths against each other’s felt intimate. Almost frighteningly so.

 

Bilbo’s eyes were still closed. His eyelashes caught the sunlight, turned golden against his cheeks. He’d barely gotten a needy whine out of his throat before Dwalin bent forward and reclaimed his lips.

 

This time he was brave and let _his_ tongue advance. Bilbo’s mouth was _hot_ and wet, tasting very faintly of the apple-thing they’d had for dessert. Working on instinct, Dwalin bit down on Bilbo’s lush lower lip without thinking – and was rewarded by a soft moan.

 

“Quick learner,” Bilbo breathed into the space between them, and Dwalin would’ve frowned if he’d heard properly. As it was, he was more distracted by the insistent tugging near his waist; Bilbo was attempting to pull Dwalin’s shirt from his belt. He slid that hand up Dwalin’s belly and chest once he got a corner free. Dwalin felt him quiver and heard him moan.

 

Bilbo rocked back on his heels, breaking their kiss. Dwalin smoothed a thumb over his lips – so red and plush. So that was why people enjoyed kissing. He’d always wondered.

 

Blunt fingernails scratched through his chest hair, bringing him back to the present. Bilbo licked his lips, and Dwalin fought the urge to catch his tongue between his teeth.

 

“I think we’d best move to the bedroom.”

 

“Why?” Dwalin asked, yanking Bilbo close to press his stiffening cock to the Hobbit’s stomach. (He’d swear he heard a whimper.) “Plenty of flat surfaces here, I think.”

 

“I –” Bilbo swallowed sharply when Dwalin thrust his hips forward again. “I’ll just lock the front door.” He disengaged from Dwalin. Glared up at him. “You take off all your clothes.”

 

As he left the room, Dwalin distinctly heard: “Lucky there’re thorns ‘neath that window” amongst Bilbo’s grumbles. He shrugged inwardly. It didn’t matter to Dwalin whether or not a nosy neighbour poked in. T’wasn’t like he _lived_ there.

 

Dwalin made quick work of his clothes, dropping them into a messy pile and kicking it into the corner. He had time even to trail a hand down his stomach and fist his cock, giving it a few pleasurable tugs as he waited.

 

“Oh, you are _lovely_ to look at.” There was enough earnest awe in that voice to make Dwalin’s ears red, though he straightened his shoulders and faced Bilbo all the same.

 

“Are you going to stand and gawp, or are you going to do something?” Dwalin raised an eyebrow challengingly, and stroked himself again, daring under Bilbo’s gaze.

 

“No fear,” said the Hobbit, crossing the room as he removed his weskit. “I have plans for you.”

 

Apparently step one of this plan involved Bilbo sealing his clothed body to Dwalin’s, tipping his face up for a kiss that Dwalin bestowed. It was easier this time; Dwalin’s mouth was already open when brazen hands clenched over his arse and made him inhale sharply.

 

“Lovely,” Bilbo said breathlessly, nipping at a furred chin. “Let me show you.”

 

He slid down Dwalin’s body sinuously, ending up on his knees with points of colour high on his cheeks, like ruby drops. He’d braced his left hand on one massive thigh, and the other sifted through wiry curls. This puzzled Dwalin – and not least because Bilbo had mentioned wanting to fuck him. He wondered why Bilbo had to kneel to fist Dwalin’s cock.

 

Not that the Dwarf was complaining. The view was gorgeous.

 

Bilbo placed a worshipful kiss on Dwalin’s hip. When he looked up, it was with blown-wide pupils that had the slightest rim of hazel around them.

 

“Don’t move your hips,” he warned seriously.

 

“Why would I –?” Dwalin broke off, cursing. It was lucky that Bilbo had pressed him against the kitchen table earlier. He clutched at it for solid support, watching with wide eyes as inch after inch of his cock slipped past Bilbo’s lips.

 

Hah. To think that he’d had reservations about _tongues_ in mouths.

 

It was a glorious sensation, the wet heat enveloping his length – and not to boast, but it was incredible that Bilbo seemed able to take it all with no trouble. Thing was, the little Hobbit didn’t just stop there. He bobbed his head, lifting almost off Dwalin’s cock before gliding back down, nose buried in the thatch of curls at its base.

 

He found it almost impossible to obey Bilbo’s order. Every instinct shouted at him to grasp that curly-haired head and fuck Bilbo’s mouth for all it was worth. Dwalin thought the only reason he managed was because he was shocked into stillness at the sight of hollowed cheeks and the rasp of a thorough tongue.

 

The worst (best?) part of it all was the way Bilbo kept looking up with smirking eyes, like he knew exactly what he was putting Dwalin through. Then Bilbo’s eyelids would flutter closed and _he_ would moan, obviously enjoying himself as he swallowed Dwalin down and _sucked_.

 

Dwalin didn’t understand. He wondered what he tasted like, and how that could be pleasing. Maybe it was the feel instead of the flavour; silky skin sliding against the inside of his cheeks _did_ actually sound tempting. But – what about the teeth? Wasn’t it dangerous to have teeth so close to –?

 

Unaware of Dwalin’s plight – and personally he thought it amazing that he had enough wit about him to have a plight while being driven to pleasurable distraction – Bilbo let Dwalin’s cock fall from his lips. Almost immediately he swooped back in, curling his tongue around the swollen head and trying to smile at the heartfelt groan he received.

 

Worried he’d leave marks on the table, Dwalin carded his fingers through Bilbo’s hair instead, trying and failing to be gentle. His host seemed not to mind at all, humming around the cock in his mouth, and Dwalin’s knees went weak. They went weaker still when he noticed that there was a small hand between Bilbo’s legs, rubbing at his dick through his trousers. Mmm.

 

Bilbo sat back, releasing Dwalin’s length with an obscene sound. He looked utterly debauched; flushed, with swollen lips, and very pleased with himself.

 

“Did you enjoy that?” he asked, voice hoarse.

 

“Aye,” Dwalin replied, again tugging on golden-brown locks. “Very much.”

 

Bilbo licked his lips before grinning. “Good. Because I enjoyed doing it.” Yes, his hand was still moving, whether unconsciously or not. “And while I’m sure I can make you spurt just like this,” he paused to kiss Dwalin’s cock, “I’ve got better things in mind.”

 

He accepted Dwalin’s help rising to his feet, but batted away his tattooed hands when it came to removing his clothes. Dwalin was a little relieved; the buttons were too small and numerous for his impatience to see Bilbo naked.

 

The Hobbit was well-rounded and wide-hipped, with a strange lack of hair except on the tops of his head and feet, as well as a smattering across his chest and bum, and a thick nest of impossible curls at the base of his flushed cock.

 

It was a good size, Dwalin mused, engulfing it in his grip. Not too big to look ungainly; there’d be less pain when Bilbo entered him, at least. (Well, compared to his bigger partners, anyway.)

 

Bilbo mewled, closing his hands around the one Dwalin was using to fist his cock. It was leaking already, that lovely, pretty dick. Dwalin grinned, deliberately slowing the motion of his hand, before slipping his middle finger against Bilbo’s slit.

 

“Are y’gonna shove this in me, or what?”

 

“Yes –” Bilbo hissed out a breath. “ _Yes_. Just hand me that –” He stepped back, out of Dwalin’s doubtlessly maddening reach, cock bouncing against his belly. “Hand me the oil.”

 

Dwalin obeyed, though a little mystified as to why Bilbo would need the curved glass bottle. It wasn’t as if he was going to cook now. He watched as a dribble was poured over slender fingers; Bilbo rubbed them together as he carefully replaced the bottle on the counter.

 

When Bilbo bade him turn around, Dwalin suddenly knew what the oil was for. He caught Bilbo’s wrist. “What are you doing? Why are you wasting your oil?”

 

Bilbo blinked hazel eyes up at him. “Wasting?”

 

Did this Hobbit know nothing about coupling? “You don’t need oil, a bit of spit will do just fine.” He snorted inelegantly at the dumbfounded expression he earned, and lifted his hand to his mouth. Or he would’ve, had Bilbo not decided to grab _Dwalin’s_ wrist. “Now what?”

 

“I’m not saying you can’t use spit – but we have oil and I’d rather use it. Oil will slick the way better. I – I know I’m not as large as you’re probably used to, but I’d still prefer not to cause too much discomfort.”

 

“Discom –” Dwalin snorted. “It’s supposed to hurt. If it doesn’t, you aren’t doing it right.” He’d been told that time and time again, from the very first time he’d lain with someone. It was just something he’d accepted. What was a little pain to a Dwarven warrior, after all?

 

Bilbo _gaped._ “How – _supposed_ – what, who on earth told you that lie?”

 

“What lie? ‘Tis fact.”

 

He was shaking his head even before Dwalin had finished speaking. Rude, for such a prissy creature. “You’re telling me that you – that every time you’ve been with someone, either you or they would just spit on your cock and _shove_ in?”

 

“No. We’d use a finger first.” You’d think that Bilbo had never been fucked before.

 

“A finger,” he repeated flatly. “One. One finger.”

 

Dwalin released Bilbo, and tugged his other hand from his grip so he could cross his arms over his bare chest. This semi-arguing was wearing away his arousal, leaving him increasingly chillier.

 

“Look,” Bilbo said, “let me use oil to smooth my way – and if you still do not get pleasure from it, I will make it up to you.” He grimaced. “And if you want to have me, I’ll do my own preparation beforehand. Is that agreeable?”

 

To be honest, Dwalin wasn’t quite sure why he was making a fuss in the first place – maybe because he knew oil wasn’t going to lessen the painful burn of being taken. He’d been taken many times, more than Bilbo had. He was the expert on the subject, surely. But, if the Hobbit insisted, it wasn’t any quartz off his geode.

 

He nodded warily in response to Bilbo’s question, and finally turned around as originally instructed. With the further guidance of Bilbo’s (dry) hand, he braced his forearms on the table as he bent over. Then Dwalin waited.

 

Instead of the sensation of an impatient finger seeking entrance – which Dwalin had come to expect – he instead felt Bilbo place a soft kiss at the small of his back. Then he felt the finger.

 

There was no impatience to be found, though. From the way it felt, Bilbo was slowly circling the furl of muscle, not once dipping in. The oil made everything slippery and wet, and did not rub away as spit usually did.

 

When Bilbo finally slipped in a finger, Dwalin was hardly aware of it. There was no pain at all, only the slightest stretch. A second kiss was pressed to his skin and Dwalin took a moment to exhale.

 

How could this be affecting him so much when it didn’t ache at all? When it was only one slim finger?

 

“Another?” Bilbo asked, and Dwalin croaked an affirmative.

 

The second finger provided more of a stretch, and no pain. There was a bit of a burn, but it somehow felt sweet. Dwalin rested more of his weight on the tabletop, spreading his legs wider and listening to Bilbo gasp.

 

Of all the new experiences he’d faced today, Dwalin was beginning to think this was the best. Bilbo was only using two fingers, two slender, tiny fingers, but the oil and his patience had Dwalin squirming – and then growling low as Bilbo found that little nub inside him.

 

He hadn’t even known that was _possible_ with just fingers.

 

Bilbo’s free hand soothed down Dwalin’s side. “All –” He swallowed heavily. “All right?” He sounded about as wrecked as Dwalin felt.

 

“I –” Dwalin clenched his hands and watched his tattoos stretch. “I want you to fuck me.” He _needed_ it.

 

“Soon,” Bilbo crooned. As he spoke he retracted his fingers until only the very tips remained in Dwalin’s body. “Let me add one more, just one more –”

 

Dwalin bit down on his lip as Bilbo made good on his promise. He tried to shift as Bilbo moved his hand, trying to reach toe-curling pleasure on every thrust of those frustrating fingers.

 

His cock hung heavy between his legs, swaying as they moved. It had flagged somewhat, earlier, but as Dwalin had moved past his surprise, his arousal had returned with interest. Lazy sparks danced down his body as Bilbo stretched him thoroughly – and then he felt the Hobbit shift, angle changing, and –

 

Oh, those weren’t sparks any ore, they were _flames_ , red-hot flames in a forge –

 

“Wait,” Dwalin demanded, jaw clenched. He’d clamped his hand over the base of his cock, just in case – it hurt him, yes, but at least he was no longer in danger of spilling before he wanted to. He wanted Bilbo in him first.

 

“What’s wrong?” Bilbo had stopped immediately after Dwalin’s command, and his tone was absolutely drowned in worry. “Are you hurt?”

 

The complete opposite, actually. “If – I’m too close for you to keep going just yet.”

 

He felt Bilbo lean down to touch his forehead to Dwalin’s back. “It’d be much better if you spilled before I have you,” Bilbo muttered into tattooed skin. “But if you want me –”

 

“Yes,” groaned Dwalin. “Want to fuck you.”

 

Bilbo shuddered. “If you want that you have to stay in control for awhile longer.” He withdrew his fingers and left Dwalin gasping, empty.

 

Dwalin pressed the side of his face against the table, hoping the warm smoothness would soothe him. (It didn’t.) He heard Bilbo shuffle away and uncork the bottle. He heard the wet splash of oil and the pained hiss from Bilbo.

 

He felt Bilbo move back into position.

 

Bilbo touched Dwalin’s hip lightly. “I’m going to – going to –”

 

“Do it,” Dwalin growled.

 

That small hand slipped down from his hip to his arsecheek, fondling and massaging. Bilbo stepped forward again; smooth skin tickled Dwalin’s thighs, and he felt the slick tip of what could only be Bilbo’s cock, nudging at his stretched hole.

 

“Do it,” he said again, breathless, and was rewarded when Bilbo pushed in.

 

In this, the Hobbit again took his time. He did not force himself all the way in all at once. No, he rocked his hips back and forth, back and forth, sliding in further and further with every little thrust. It was an almost physical relief when Bilbo was seated fully, nice and snug – his fingers had been able to reach Dwalin’s nub, and his cock was more than long enough to do the same.

 

The stretch now was wider than with three fingers, the burn more apparent. Still, this could not compare with past dalliances; Bilbo’s cock was still and unmoving inside him, and it was _glorious_.

 

To think, he’d been doing it wrongly all these years.

 

Behind him, Bilbo juddered, his hands tight on Dwalin’s hips. “I’m… going to move now.”

 

Dwalin didn’t have the breath for a reply, nodding wordlessly instead. He moaned all the same when Bilbo pulled back and snapped forwards.

 

Forget a forge-flame; the pleasure raged through Dwalin’s body like an inferno. Bilbo set a punishing pace (which surprised Dwalin, make no mistake), pushing in deep and rubbing against his nub unerringly. Their bodies slapped together loudly in the kitchen, and sunlight streamed in through the window and warmed the back of Dwalin’s neck.

 

Grasping fingers pulled at his shoulder; Dwalin managed to turn his head to catch Bilbo’s eyes, and was instead distracted by how _ruined_ the Hobbit looked.

 

“Push up against, against the table,” Bilbo gasped, still driving into Dwalin’s body with stronger-than-expected thrusts. “Curve your back, yes – _yes_!”

 

The changed angle had Dwalin’s arms wobbling; Bilbo’s cock was hot and sweet inside him, rubbing against him in all the best ways. He couldn’t stop panting in deep breaths, unknowingly in time with Bilbo’s movements. Only, Dwalin hadn’t ever felt this way – hadn’t ever been fucked and felt this good, not precisely. Beyond this newness was the way Bilbo touched him. There was hardly any rough handling; Bilbo was not stingy with caresses and strokes, every little touch making Dwalin feel dizzy and lightheaded.

 

“Again,” he commanded, and Bilbo grunted in reply, complying. Ah, there it was, that mounting pressure at the base of his cock. He could feel his stones drawing up, and almost cried out in relief when Bilbo took him in hand – in one still-slippery hand. The rhythm was messy, not at all in time with Bilbo’s thrusting, but Dwalin didn’t care. It was brilliant, it was starbursts in his vision, he was rocking into Bilbo’s grip – he was spurting, oh _yes_ –

 

With a deep groan, the Dwarf let his arms fold as he rested his head against the wood. His thighs twitched as he enjoyed his afterglow; he was extremely loose now, loose enough for Bilbo to drop any semblance of control and take pleasure in Dwalin’s body. He pushed in one last time, to the hilt, and a sweet shudder ran through Dwalin as the warm wet filled him.

 

So. That was how Hobbits did things. Dwalin figured he had a lot to learn, yet – he still needed to fuck Bilbo, after all – but he knew that his axe oil would see a lot of use in future.

**Author's Note:**

> (If anyone was wondering why Bilbo stopped with three fingers - size differences, my friends. Besides as he said, he's not as big as most of Dwalin's previous partners.)
> 
> (Also, I would describe Dwalin as experienced, but inexperienced at the same time.)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Dwalin Doing Properly](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1179419) by [diemarysues](https://archiveofourown.org/users/diemarysues/pseuds/diemarysues)




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